Love & Hate Series Box Set 2 (3-4) - In Too Deep - Skimming the Surface

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  She is going to strangle me and no one will know. The world around me starts fading and I know that this is the end. I have no more strength to fight with her. Rat is winning—but then the tiny voice in my head whispers to me, and it’s something that Tequila would have said.

  Don’t be a pussy, Tahlia. He wants you to be scared.

  Her voice injects something in me—more willingness to fight, to not give up so easily. I roar, kicking her with my knee. She releases her grip for a second, but that’s enough, and I manage to pull away from her. I don’t know how or why, but I start hitting her with every bit of power that is left in me. All of a sudden she has a knife in her hands, and she slashes it through my arm. Fresh blood starts pouring out. The pain makes me crazy, and I use my fists, punching her as hard as I can, breaking her nose. Blood spills everywhere and she shrieks, trying to grab my hair, but I punch her again. The bitch drops the knife and lands on the floor, next to my prison bed. She doesn’t move again.

  I get away from her and sit on the bed, breathing hard, trying to stay alert. The blood loss makes me dizzy. My pulse is racing. Adrenaline still courses through my body. A moment later I hear some voices and then the pig guard appears at the corridor, he notices the blood and the nurse bitch lying on the floor unconscious.

  Minutes later my cell is filled with other cops. Micah arrives first, asking if I’m all right, shaking me. He doesn’t deserve an explanation and I don’t respond at all. Someone shouts to get the doctor in. The nurse is moaning on the floor. Shame that she’s not dead.

  “That bitch tried to kill me. She said that Rudolf sent her down,” I shout after some time, feeling like I’m going to pass out. All I want right now is to close my eyes and forget about this mess, this nightmare. This shit has just gone real. The rat has already begun playing his game and it won’t be long before he gets someone good enough to end my miserable life.

  “Why the hell was no one checking on her? Dean, you were supposed to keep an eye on her cell,” Micah yells, looking at the pig. His voice breaks me, and even though I don’t want him here, I imagine him holding me for a moment and telling me that everything is all right. My heart is reacting, beating faster, stronger, but I refuse to meet his eyes.

  The pig scratches his head, looking unfazed that someone had just tried to fucking kill me. He is a joke, not a cop, like the rest of the idiots around him.

  “She is lying. I haven’t heard a thing. Sanderson assaulted the nurse when she tried to take her blood pressure or something,” he barks, then laughs nervously. I don’t want to believe that he’s one of rat’s people, but it’s possible. Why else would Pig pretend that he didn’t hear when the bitch was suffocating me with her bare hands? I’m ready to kill him.

  “Micah, take her away and call the doctor. Her wound needs to be stitched up,” Rogers, Micah’s partner, orders, dragging his hand through his hair. I feel Micah’s eyes on me, drilling through me, and I can’t dart my gaze up to look at him. He needs to let me be, to stop trying to defuse the situation. First the incident in the court, now the assault will most likely be added to the list of charges that are already pending against me.

  “Rogers, this is bullshit and you know it. She wouldn’t attack her without a reason. We need to look through the CCTV, assess what happened here,” Micah says, sounding pissed off.

  I can’t let him touch me, so I back away, trying to stop the bleeding from my nose. I wonder if he will ever stop pretending that he cares and just leave me the fuck alone. After what happened in here, they won’t keep me at the station any longer, but half of them have no clue what’s really going on here.

  Luckily for me he doesn’t go anywhere near me. Instead we leave the cell and start walking through a long narrow corridor.

  “What the fuck happened up there, Tahlia?” he asks, turning around, blocking my path. My head feels heavy, my eyes are unfocused. The heat clenches my insides and I wish that I could be somewhere else, away from him.

  I don’t respond, looking down, so he moves closer. The sudden desire that stirs inside me makes me furious. This is not the time or a place. I finally look at him, wiping the blood off my face.

  “Why do you care, arsehole?”

  He presses his lips in a hard line and then drags his hand through his hair.

  “I can’t change that I fucked up, but this shit is serious, Tahlia. I know that Rudolf sent someone to finish the job, but the killer went to the wrong window, murdered the wrong girl. You were supposed to be dead weeks ago. Suranne was just the random victim and it looks like you’re still the target.” He looks around, probably to make sure that we are alone. He has large, dark circles under his eyes. Whatever. Maybe he hasn’t been sleeping well since he threw me in jail. I know that he is the last person that I should care about, but for some reason I feel sorry for him.

  I should have known that Suranne’s death wasn’t just a stupid coincidence. It all happened so fast. One moment we were cooking dinner together, the next she was gone and the police were all over me. All I can think of right now is Steph. Micah was cruel and maybe I should be too. I’m ready to tell him that I know who killed his ex, and that he is still out there, getting away with it. Micah admitted that he spent years looking for answers, but all these years he failed to notice the one person that was always in front of him.

  I stopped believing in God when rat kept me in that hole. I was angry that Rudolf was allowed to get away with so much shit—the other murders, drugs and lies. Micah doesn’t know half of the shit that went down in that house.

  “Take me to the doctor. I feel worse every second I’m standing here with you,” I snarl at him, pressing my hands to my skull to ease the pain. A panic attack is crawling to the surface of my skin. I feel it in my bones and Micah is not helping standing inches away, filling me with his scent. My arm keeps pulsing with pain and if he doesn’t get out of my sight, I’ll kill him myself.

  “Tahlia, tell me what happened in that cell. I’m trying to fix this, fix us, but no one fucking believes me. I made a mistake, and I’ll never forgive myself that I didn’t trust you.”

  “Blah, blah, blah. I don’t give a flying fuck, butthole. The bitch attacked me and it happened because of you, because you put me in here,” I shout. My hatred stirs in the pit of my stomach, but then there is deep wrenching love too. I’m ready to step away, but he pushes me and my defence mechanism is useless. All the memories from our nights together are like nightmares that I can’t forget. His hot kisses and the old manor house. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I a masochist, someone that loves having her heart sliced over and over?

  “Tahlia, please, your arrest was the worst decision that I ever made. I’m going to fix this, fix everything. I know you hate me right now, but what we had was real. I have never been happier than when we were together. It’s God’s honest truth.”

  I’m so caught up with trying not to listen to him that I don’t realise we stopped. A moment later Micah tells me to go inside a small room. The doctor that came to see me earlier is there, reading through some files.

  “Take care of her, Doc. I’ll be back in half an hour. Her arm needs stitching,” Micah says and leaves without saying another word. My breath comes in short ragged pants as I try to gain control of myself and the pressure that I feel in my whole body. Micah betrayed me. He lied back when we were together and he is lying to my face now.

  When I was that girl that he saved, I really thought I would never have to be afraid again, but his promise never meant a thing, and since then I stopped trusting people, men in particular.

  The doctor doesn’t ask questions and starts stitching my wound. Luckily my nose isn’t broken. I get cleaned up, and the doctor leaves me alone, telling me that he is going to get a guard to take me back to the cell. Almost forty minutes later, instead of a guard, a man with large bulky arms and a white uniform walks inside, shutting the door. I spot Lee outside the door, talking to some other guy.

  “You’re being transferred;
we are leaving immediately,” he says with that bored tone of voice when he puts the handcuffs back on me.

  “Where they are transferring me?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. I’m not supposed to answer any questions.”

  “I only defended myself. She was the one that tried to strangle me. I shouldn’t be getting punished for trying to stay alive. ”

  “I don’t care. I’m here to take you back with me, so let’s get on with it,” he barks at me. Micah has lied again. He was never going to come back for me. Bastard. And Lee is arranging this transfer with him.

  Within ten minutes I’m back in the police van. Decisions are being made, and the guy in a white uniform tells me that they are not taking me to prison, but hospital. They all think that I’m crazy. This time when the van starts moving I start to wonder if maybe this whole transfer might give me the opportunity that I have been waiting for: a chance to run. Several minutes later, the van stops in front of a large white building. All the windows have bars in them, and there is a guy dressed in a suit waiting by the entrance. The tiny voice in my head tells me that my sudden amazing plan might not be so good anymore. There is no way that I would be able to bribe anyone in a place like this. When I step out, I already know that I have been transferred to a mental hospital. The police are washing their hands of me. Now I not only need to prove that I’m innocent but also that I’m not crazy.

  ***

  I hate when people stare at me, especially in the trains or buses. It’s been two long years since I have been in London and I promised Lee that I wouldn’t do anything reckless. Well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. It’s been a week since his last visit, since he told me that I don’t have to hide anymore. Rudolf is dead. He was shot a couple of weeks ago on the street. I feel so strange knowing that this whole thing is finally behind me, that I can start over.

  The journey takes over two hours, and I stay in my seat waiting for other people to get out first. I take a deep breath, pushing negative thoughts away, and then finally get up. My heart pounds inside my chest and my palms are sweaty. The crowd is suffocating. There are always so many people squashed in one place, touching me, rubbing against one another. I’m out of my comfort zone, trying to ignore the anxiety, the pressure in my skull.

  My doctor tells me that this is my way of coping.

  After fighting through the crowd, I get the tube to the address that I had memorised. Tequila is a girl that I met online a year ago. We had been chatting in an online forum for months and months. I know for a fact that Tequila isn’t her real name, but she calls herself that and I don’t mind. After our initial conversation we stopped using the chat room on the website and continued to talk in more private settings. We started talking on the phone and emailed almost every day. She came to visit me a few times, because I was too scared to travel to London. Too many saturated memories were waiting for me there, but today I decided that it was time to face the past.

  A few months after we met I found out that she was also the victim of domestic violence. After being isolated for so long I needed to find someone normal, someone that would allow me to forget that I was a victim, and Tequila had done just that in her own life.

  I hated that I couldn’t get close to people around me. When rat was still alive, I barely interacted with others. Lee suggested I enrol in some home study courses. It was a good idea, because then I was only leaving the house when I had appointments with the shrink or I ran out of food in the cupboards. The support group was my escape from this miserable life that I had been living since Detective Micah Thomson had shut me down.

  It took me another forty minutes to find the right address. For some reason I was nervous, far away from the place I used to call home. My mother was most probably still alive. That bitch had been using crack her whole life. Lee spilled that my siblings were taken away as soon as rat took control of my life.

  My prayers were finally answered. I’d wanted my brother and two sisters to be free of her. I never saw them again. It’s been years, but I was certain that their life was much better since they weren’t with my mother.

  When I finally stand in front of the old shabby semi-detached house in an okay area, a nervous tremor passes through my spine. I’ve gotten to know this girl well enough in the past few months; we had the same interests and we both had been through a lot of shit. I don’t have any other choice but to knock. Several moments later she opens the door and throws herself on me.

  “God, I was so fucking worried, Tahlia. It’s good to see you again,” she says, squeezing me hard. It’s strange, but for the first time in a long time I don’t mind being touched by another human being, another person that understands me.

  Chapter Four

  He is fixing it

  Tequila is slightly shorter than me, with long black hair, pale skin and wide blue eyes. The girl is much prettier than I imagined. I recently died my hair green, pierced my lips, eyebrows and nose. The tattoos will be next on my list. I want to cover my entire body with awesome designs, to forget and to feel better about myself. Mike, the artist, saw me without clothes and he agreed to cover all the scars, but that might take a few months. I’m not worried about pain, but I need to feel that I’m moving somewhere, that I’m not that stupid, naive Rose Waltham anymore.

  “So have you had a good trip?” she asks as we walk into her cramped living room. She likes vintage stuff. I can tell straight away that she has expensive taste and an eye for good books. Her house is cozy and welcoming. Many awesome paintings are scattered around. Tequila is an artist, and she is making an absolute fortune on her talent.

  “Yeah, sort of. Nearly flipped when I arrived at King’s Cross, but I’m all right now,” I admit, smiling.

  “This happens to me sometimes when I’m in crowds. Fucking hate people sometimes. So do you want tea, coffee, or are we going straight to the rum or vodka?”

  I grin like it’s a Christmas morning. This girl makes me feel so calm. She knows what I’ve been through, and to her my scars don’t matter. Other people stare, ask uncomfortable questions, but she just treats me like an ordinary human being, her friend.

  “We are celebrating—rat is dead and I’m officially off the protection programme,” I say, rubbing my hands over my jeans. Tequila shouts, and before I know what’s going on, she starts dancing in the middle of her living room, like she’s gone crazy.

  “The rum it is then, but before that, there is something I have to talk to you about,” she adds, sitting back down. The relaxed atmosphere has gone. Now we are back to business.

  “What is it?”

  “I need you to talk to this girl that I met the other day at the market, through a friend. She asked me to introduce her to some people that used to be heavily involved in speed and crack. I refused of course, but I just know that she’s going to pursue these avenues on her own accord. I know how these people work. I have to stop her before it’s too late.”

  “Really? You want to help some random girl?”

  “Well, I kind of know her mother. We talked a few times. Her family is decent and they are all worried about her. She asked me to talk to her, to get her back on the right track.”

  Tequila wants me to influence this girl, probably hoping that I could change her mind, due to the fact that we might be from similar backgrounds. Tequila used to be in a lot of trouble with the police herself, but she probably thinks that I can somehow relate to this girl, befriend her. She managed to pull her shit together, got cleaned up and started her own art business. In a few months I’ll be in different city. Maybe this is my chance to help someone else.

  “Do you think this will work?”

  “Trust me, it always does,” she mutters. “Now tell me—what do you want to see in London? What is the plan?”

  ***

  “There. Here is your room. Kiki will let you know how things work around here,” says one of the male support workers, shoving me inside the large isolated room. A girl that looks like she
might be sixteen is lying on the bed, reading a book. I look around, wondering how long they are planning to keep me in this place, feeling that the overwhelming anxiety might be back. At least I should be glad that I’m not stuck in the dark cell any longer, but in a clean white room with a large window. Maybe the psych won’t be as bad as I imagined. There is a possibility that rat won’t have people in places like this. He has never believed in mental illness. He never even tried to get help for the only person that ever mattered to him: his own mother.

  “Nice tattoos. I always wanted one, but I’m scared of needles,” the girl, Kiki, says, jumping off the bed and approaching me. Her head reaches up to my shoulders. She has short spiky blond hair, hollow cheeks and wide brown eyes.

  “Thanks, but trust me, I won’t be here long. I’ll get out of here sooner or later,” I mutter, checking the stitches on my arm and taking a deep long breath to calm my nerves. Whoever made the decision to lock me in here made a big mistake. They assumed that I assaulted that bitch in my cell, so they picked me up and quickly got rid of the problem. Micah promised to fix this—yet again he lied to me.

  “Like we all say,” she replies, laughing. “So what have you done? Anything serious?”

  “A nurse tried to kill me so I kicked her arse,” I reply, looking outside on the corridor, but in front of us there are just walls. It’s a small hospital, or maybe a detention centre. I have no idea what to expect, but I presume sooner or later the doctor in charge of the ward will want to evaluate me. They have my file, so they should know that I have been through therapy, unless Lee failed to share that confidential information with them.

  “Apart from us, there are four other women in here. They let everyone out in the morning, so you can walk around the ward. I stabbed my boyfriend when he tried to rape me. Kind of lost it after that,” she admits, like it’s not a big deal. I don’t know why I’m even surprised. People like to share their stories. Tequila was the same. She has no idea that I’ve been locked up or even charged with murder. She was right about Micah. She told me straight that he was playing me, but I continued to pretend that it was a real love.